


5.17 Pure Luck

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Fairies, Humor, Magic, Three Wishes, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: July, 2017: Mabel has gained a little weight (probably from the food she ate at Grenda's wedding). When she and Candy go for an exercise walk, they encounter the leprecorn, and soon afterward they learn that means trouble. Well, it's Mabel, right? Little bit of Wendip at the end. Complete in six  chapters.





	1. Somewhere Under the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of the characters; both are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of Alex Hirsch. I make no money from these stories but write just for fun and in the hope that other fans enjoy reading them. I will ask, please, do not copy my stories elsewhere on the Internet. I work hard on these, and they mean a lot to me. Thank you.

**Pure Luck**

**By William Easley**

**(July 26, 2017)**

* * *

**1: Somewhere Under the Rainbow**

Mabel had put on two pounds in a week, and Candy Chiu almost that much. "It was the rich and irresistible food of the wedding celebration, I think," Candy confided.

"Could be," Mabel concurred. Now that she thought about it, she had enjoyed triple servings of almost everything. On the other hand, she had thrown up a lot, especially aboard the yacht, which wasn't at sea long enough for her to get her sea legs and overcome her _mal de mer_. From the von Fundhauser butlers, or one of them—they were so rich that their butlers had butlers—she had learned that _mal de mer_ was the fancy term for "seasickness."

However, somehow her intake had exceeded her outgo, evidently. "Way I see it," Mabel told Candy, "we got two choices: Eat less, exercise more, or do both of them."

"Excuse me," Candy said, her brow wrinkling. "Is that not three things?"

"Nah, it's just one," Mabel said. "I can't eat less—I got a metabolism to support. So today we start taking long walks! Like what Dipper and Wendy do, but slower."

Accordingly, that Wednesday afternoon just after the workday ended (six P.M.), Candy showed up at the Shack, Mabel changed into walking shoes, jeans, a light sweater (it had an appliqué of a rainbow, and it was a pale green), and a knitted tam (she had knitted it, and it matched the sweater, except the pompon was rainbow hued).

Yes, it's a pompon and not a pompom. It's an old French word. You can look it up.

"Where shall we two girls walk?" Candy asked. She wore her Girl Scout uniform and carried a walking staff as tall as she was. "How about we walk into town and then around the streets?"

"Nuh-uh," Mabel said. "Because someone would want to go into the candy shop and stock up on chocolates, and into the soda fountain for milkshakes, and—get my drift?"

Candy's gaze sank. "They are so tempting. I am sorry."

"You?" Mabel asked. "I was talking about _me_! I know me too well to trust me downtown when the mission is to shed a couple pounds. No, let's walk down the Mystery Trail. I'll show you the new attraction—it's a dark ride, but we could walk it—and we'll take the side trail over to Small Falls. Ever been there?"

Frowning in thought, Candy said, "No, I do not think so. What is it?"

"Like the name says, a little waterfall. In the afternoon, sometimes you can see rainbows. If we go that far and then come back, that should be about five miles. I know that sounds like a lot, but my Brobro and Wendy run that far nearly every day."

They were sitting on the museum porch, side by side, legs dangling. Candy said, "I suppose I am ready."

"Then let's go!" They hopped down and set off.

"Is the pit really bottomless?" Candy asked as they passed it.

"Kinda," Mabel said. "Anything that's not alive falls into it and vanishes forever, as far as we know. But living things, animals and people, fall for twenty-two minutes and then shoot back out again. Nobody knows why."

"Have you tried this?"

"Yeah, once but it's really boring. Anyway, I don't think falling uses up any calories. Hitting bottom might, but that's the hard way. Wish I had a staff like you."

"I carved this one myself," Candy said. It was a sturdy length of some light-colored wood, with the head knobbed and carved to resemble an owl. "It was a project."

"Why the owl?" Mabel asked.

"Owls are important to the Chiu family," Candy said. "They are guardians. They keep away bad fortune. You could say owls are our totem animal. That is an animal that protects a family."

"Whoa," Mabel said. "Never heard that. Guess mine would be a pig. I relate to Waddles and Widdles on a basic level."

Chatting of this and that—after a few yards, specifically about boys and what made individual ones hot or not—they ambled along at a pretty good pace. They passed the Talking Rock and walked through the new attraction, "It's a Mysterious World." Mabel switched on the power—when he drove the tram, Soos used a remote, but you could do it by flipping a switch—and they strolled through, looking at the robotic mythical creatures going through their routines and listening to the song.

"Is that you singing?" Candy asked.

"Uh-huh," Mabel told her. "Me and Pacifica and Tambry. What do you think?"

"It is a nice melody," Candy said.

About fifty steps later, she asked, "Does the song ever stop?"

"No one thousand! It just goes round and round forever!"

"_Geugeon hyeongbeol-ibnida!"_ Candy exclaimed.

"Come again?"

"I said you have a lovely voice," Candy replied through clenched teeth.

"Thank you!"

Because Candy picked up the pace, they sort of hurried through the rest of the attraction. Mabel slowed to point out a serpentine creature wound round and round a pillar, its head nodding toward them. "Soos says that's a Korean dragon."

"No, an imugi," Candy said. "Very nice. Let us go faster!"

They emerged, Mabel stepped back into the entrance and shut off the power, and they continued.

They took the side trail, nearly overgrown, until they came to a place where Cold Creek tumbled over about a fifteen-foot tall bluff, sending up a fine spray. "There!" Mabel said, pointing dramatically. "Did I promise you a rainbow?"

Sure enough, the westering sun shone at just the right angle to create a beautiful, perfect, very clear rainbow arch.

"I like it better than the frightening ride, I think," Candy said. "Can we sit here for a few minutes before going on?"

"Going back, you mean," Mabel said. "OK, let's take fifteen minutes. We can sit on the rock over there and look at the scenery. Then we'll start back. We should get to the Shack before sunset, anyway."

The rock was one of the rounded boulders that Gravity Falls Valley had in abundance. It was smooth and cool, and just the right height to give them a seat. The rush of the creek over the rocks produced a lulling white-noise sound, not too loud to drown out conversation. Candy admitted, "I am so nervous. In September, I am off to college in Portland. My family expects me to bring home all A grades. It is a lot of pressure!"

"You got it knocked," Mabel said. "When it comes to our gang here, you're the brains of the outfit! I'm the heart. I guess Paz is the makeup expert."

"I fear it will be different in college," Candy said. "In the high school, yes, I am one of the smarties. But the competition is not great, as it might be in post-secondary education. Do you fear that?"

"Nah," Mabel said, but her voice was a little downbeat. "Me, I'm gonna miss Teek. A lot. But he doesn't want to get engaged until he's sure he can find some job to support a family. And I don't think Mom would go for both Dipper and me getting married so early."

"Tell her," Candy said, "that statistics indicate marriages between people who were friends in high school last longer."

"I don't think—" Mabel stopped, tilting her head. "Do you hear that?"

"I hear the waterfall. It is a nice sound of nature, I think."

"No, shh. Listen."

The waterfall wasn't all that loud, and mixed in with its sound, Mabel could hear—singing? It sounded like a very high tenor voice, though for a moment she couldn't place the tune. She started to hum along with it, and then it clicked and she sang along for a few lines:

* * *

_. . . come and find the place where I am lying,_

_And kneel and say an Ave there for me;_

_And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,_

_And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be . . . ._

* * *

"This is not a happy song," Candy said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Somebody's singing, though. Where are they?" Mabel craned her head around. The song ended and then with scarcely a pause began again:

* * *

_Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling ._ . .

* * *

"There is a dog across the stream there," Candy said. "See? Where the tree roots are so big?"

Mabel shaded her eyes, though the sun was at her back. "That's not a dog. It has a horn on its head! And I think it's wearing a hat!"

"Perhaps its owner is singing."

Mabel hopped off the rock, dashed down to the creek, and jumped almost all the way over. She sloshed out. "Here, boy!"

The creature, about the size of a Dachshund puppy, cringed away but did not run. "Bottom of th' evenin' to ye!" it squeaked.

"Did you talk?" Mabel asked. "What am I saying, of course you talked—this is Gravity Falls. How do you talk and sing at the same time?"

* * *

_Then come ye back when summer's in the meadow . . . ._

* * *

"'Tis no singing of mine at all, at all! 'Tis me magical, musical horn, so it is!"

"You're adorable!" Mabel scooped the creature up in her arms, returned to the creek, and waded across, not even bothering to try to keep her shoes and feet dry.

"What is that thing?" Candy asked, staring at the creature. It had a sort of humanoid head with big googly eyes, a plump red nose, and a red mane-like beard—but it also sprouted a single horn from its forehead, and a small green derby, decorated with a four-leafed clover, perched on its head. The rest of its body was like a very small horse's, with four hoofed legs and a big brush of a tail in rainbow hues.

"And hello to you, colleen," the creature squeaked. "Sure, and 'tis a leprecorn I be, and if ye spare me and don't eat me—"

"Yuck!" Mabel said. "Why would we _eat_ you? And could you shut that music off, please?"

* * *

_If ye'll not fail to tell me that you love me . . . ._

* * *

"Begorrah, there's many a lass that would eat me because I taste like delicious cereal with marshmallow bits! And it's sorry I am, but the music I can do nothing about. It comes from me horn, ye see."

"I saw something in one of Grunkle Ford's Journals," Mabel said. "A leprecorn. Part leprechaun, part unicorn! What unholy union produced you?"

"Whist! 'Tis me private family matters ye're bringing up! Do ye really want to know about animal husbandry, or would ye rather hear how I can bring ye luck?"

"Tough call," Mabel mused.

"I would go for the luck," Candy said. "Maybe that would make the music stop."

"Yeah, one earworm a day's about all anybody should have to take," Mabel said.

* * *

_. . . From glen to glen, and down the mountainside . . . ._

* * *

"Then each of ye stroke me horn three times—" the leprecorn began.

Scoffing, Mabel cut him right off: "Yeah, I've heard _that _before. What's that falling out of your beard?"

"'Tis a fortune in gold-colored plastic coins," the leprecorn said.

Candy picked one up. "They have shamrocks stamped on them," she pointed out.

"All right, all right, here's me counter-offer," the leprecorn said. "For the next day, twenty-four wee hours, I'll bring ye a piece of pure luck if ye'll sing the opening two lines of me song."

"Will you come with us?" Candy asked.

"No, lass, that I cannot do, for I am bound to protect the field of four-leafed clovers yonder. But no matter where ye be, if ye sing the first two lines, a nice bit o' luck will fall to ye. Providin' ye let me go, of course."

* * *

_. . . And all the roses dying . . .._

* * *

"Deal!" Mabel said. "You want me to carry you back across the creek, or—"

"Don't bother yourself at all, at all. Just set me down and I'll skedaddle."

"Skedaddle?" asked Candy.

Mabel had already put the leprecorn on the grass. Bowing awkwardly, the creature said, "Thank ye both, and may the wind at your backs never be your own!" With a switch of its rainbow tail, it trotted down to the creek, cleared it with one leap, and vanished behind the gnarly roots on the far side, the strains of "Danny Boy" fading out.

"Well," Candy said. "That happened. Do you suppose what it said might be true?"

"I don't know," Mabel admitted. "But I'd had all of that song I could take." She sat on the boulder and with some difficulty removed her shoes and wet socks. "I'm gonna have a great time walking back barefoot. I wish I had dry shoes!"

"Try for the luck," Candy suggested.

"You think?"

"It could not hurt," her friend said.

Mabel drew a deep breath. "Even I think we're taking a chance here," she said. "Here goes."

Mabel's voice had mellowed into a really sweet mezzo-soprano, and she sang clearly:

* * *

_Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,_

_From glen to glen, and down the mountainside._

* * *

She stopped and poured a little water out of her right walking shoe. "So much for luck. We'd better start back. I'll have to go slow over some of the ground we've got to cover."

"Wait—look," Candy said.

She pointed to the base of the rock. A pair of shoes, stout-looking women's brogans, sat heel to heel there, each with a sock in it.

The socks were white.

The shoes were green as a shamrock.

Mabel picked one up. "No size inside it," she said. "No labels or stamps or anything."

"Maybe the little elves made them," Candy suggested.

"You're thinking of cookies," Mabel said. "Well—they look about right, and they seem to be my size, and my feet would be blistered to heck and gone if I wore my wet walking shoes, so—here goes."

Candy lent her a bandana to dry her feet, and then Mabel put on the socks, slipped her feet into the shoes, and tied the laces. "Feel pretty good!"

"Then let us go! I do not like this place for some reason."

Mabel stuffed her wet socks into her wet shoes, tied the laces together, and carried them. "I think Grunkle Ford wrote that the leprecorn was just an annoyance," she said. "He probably never learned about the luck part. Let's go!"

They walked back up to the trail and turned toward the Shack. "How are the shoes?" Candy asked.

"Well—not stylish, but they're comfortable," Mabel said. "Whoa!"

"What are you doing?" Candy asked, sounding alarmed.

"I—don't know!" Mabel was holding her back straight, but her legs were moving in a fast dance. Like the leprecorn's horn, the shoes seemed to be playing music—a fast Irish jig, on violins. "I can't stop!"

"Let us go back home!" Dance this way!"

As the sun sank in the west, Mabel and Candy made their way back toward the Shack, making good progress—Mabel river-dancing the entire way, and Candy all but running to keep up.

When they reached the Talking Rock, a winded Candy said, "Perhaps we should rest now!"

"Can't!" Mabel said. "These shoes won't stop! Candy, call my Brobro! Tell him to meet us on the Museum porch. And he might need to call Ford!"

"I will do that thing," Candy said. She took out her phone.

Mabel noticed that she had Dipper on speed-dial.

However, as she jigged her way down the trail, she had other things to worry about just then.


	2. "Come and Dance with Me"

**Pure Luck**

**(July 26, 2017)**

* * *

**2: "Come and Dance with Me"**

"This," complained Mabel, "is ridiculous!"

"If you'd stop kicking," Dipper said, "I might be able to untie them!"

"Let me hoist you a little higher," said Soos, hauling on the rope. The swing he'd put up under the old oak tree for Little Soos rose another three feet. Mabel sat in it—she had no choice, since they'd lashed her in with a kind of improvised seat harness—but her feet kept moving in intricate, exuberant patterns, now about the same height as Dipper's shoulders.

"Ow!" Dipper said. "Stop kicking!"

"Brobro, I can't!" Mabel said. "It's not me, it's these darn green shoes! Come on, read your nerd books or something and find a way to make them stop moving, and I'll stop kicking!"

"Grunkle Ford's on the way," Dipper said. "Maybe he'll know something about breaking this kind of spell."

Ford and Stan came walking up onto the lawn. "What's going on?" Ford asked.

"Mabel has been enchanted by a wild leprecorn!" Candy told them.

"Huh? Leprechaun?" Stan asked.

"No, no!" Mabel said. "LepreCORN! The little rat!"

Stan approached rubbing his hands. "Leprechaun, you say? The one with a pot of gold? This is getting interesting!"

"Leprecorn," Ford corrected firmly. "Little creature, about the size of a small dog? Rainbow tail? Derby and a unicorn horn on his head? Body like a tiny equine? Plays 'Londonderry Air' incessantly?"

"I don't know about his derrière," Mabel said. "It might have been from London for all I know. But the horn plays 'Danny Boy' over and over."

"That's the same," Ford said.

Wendy came from the Shack. "'Sup, Mabes?" she asked.

"If I get my hands on that little Irish jerk, I'll kick his derrière!" Mabel said. "Wendy! The leprecorn tricked me and made me put on these shoes and now I can't stop line dancing!"

"You're up in a swing, Sweetie," Stan pointed out.

"Yeah, but my feet won't stop. Grunkle Ford, you gotta help me! I can't go through life dancing like this."

"She is river dancing, but up in the air," Candy clarified.

Ford tapped his chin. "According to tradition, when the British occupied Ireland, they outlawed dancing."

"Yeah," Stan said, "I hear that down South the Baptists try to do the same thing. That's why Southern couples never make love standin' up. Somebody might see them and think they're dancing."

"The Irish defied the British," Ford said, as though his brother had not interrupted with an ancient joke. "The Irish tricked them by developing the style of dancing that combines a jig with an absolutely straight back and arms at their sides. That way if the British saw them through a window, they wouldn't know they were dancing."

"What would they think, Poindexter?" Stan demanded. "That the guys and gals were high on Mexican jumping beans?"

"Guys," Dipper said, "this isn't helping Mabel. We need to get those shoes off her. But she can't hold still long enough for us to untie them."

"I could get my axe," Wendy said.

"No!" Mabel yelled. "I don't want to be shorter than Dipper!"

"How tall are you now?" Stan asked.

"Five ten and three-quarters! A millimeter taller than Dip!"

"I'm five eleven!" Dipper said. "Same as Wendy!"

"Nah, I think I still got a quarter-inch on you," Wendy said.

"Please help her," Candy said. "She is a tall girl in trouble!"

"She's always in trouble," Dipper said. "But, yeah, we have to figure something. Grunkle Ford, the shoes must be enchanted. Any counter spells?"

"I don't believe in magic per se," Ford said. "The shoes are simply operating on an alternative system of physics. If we could figure out the proper nullification to the dancing process—it might be a simple equation, or it might be a spoken phrase that interrupts the flow of energy powering the shoes—"

"Whatever it is, hurry!" Mabel said. "Sooner or later, I have to eat! And go to the bathroom! And that could get real messy real fast! Come on, guys. Somebody figure it out!"

Dipper was punching a number into his phone. "Let me see if Jeff knows a way to help. He's a Gnome, and Gnomes are related to leprechauns—"

"It is a lepreCORN," insisted Candy. "His father was a unicorn and his mother was a lady fairy. Or the other way around, maybe."

Mabel, beginning to pant from exertion, asked irritably, "How could a fairy man mate with a grown unicorn?"

"Maybe somebody put him up to it," suggested Stan.

"Please!" Dipper said. "Jeff? We have a problem involving fairy magic. Think you could help? Yeah, we'd appreciate it. Thanks!" He ended the conversation, lowered his phone, and said, "Jeff will be here in a minute."

"What's the problem?" asked Jeff. One thing about Gnomes and their ilk, they move very quietly and extremely fast. "Whoa! Mabel, where did you get the green shoes?"

"From a leprecorn," Ford said.

"Uh-uh," Jeff replied. "From THE leprecorn. There's only one of them."

Stan rubbed his eyes. "How did that happen and me not know about it? Talk about an attraction! Does it talk with a brogue?"

"No, it wears horse shoes, I think," Candy said.

"He means with an Irish accent," Dipper said. "Sure and begorrah, 'tis a foine day, wurra, wurra."

Wendy put her hand on her fiancé's shoulder. "Dip, in college, don't go out for the drama club, OK?"

"Like that," Candy agreed, "but the leprecorn's accent sounds more fake."

"How is that even possible?" asked Jeff.

"Guys! Need some help up here!" yelled Mabel.

"Jeff," Ford said, "is there any way of breaking the enchantment so Mabel can safely remove the shoes and cease dancing?"

"Um," Jeff said.

Dipper, sounding anxious, asked, "Are you saying there's no way?"

"No," Jeff said.

"She has to dance like this forever?" Wendy asked.

"No," Jeff said. "When I said no, I meant, no, I'm not saying there's no way."

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut. _By now I should be used to the way Gnomes think only in a straight line_. "What," he asked carefully, "can Mabel do to break the spell and take the shoes off?"

"She won't like it," Jeff said.

"I'll like it, I'll like it!" Mabel yelled.

"OK," Jeff said. "Uh, let me see—what's the phase of the moon?"

"Two days past new," Ford said.

Stan gaped at him. "How'd you—"

"I just have an eidetic memory where moon phases are concerned," Ford said.

"An epidemic whatsis?"

"Never mind," Ford told him. "Jeff, the moon is a waxing crescent tonight. It should be visible in—well, in a few minutes. The sun's going down."

"Perfect," Jeff said. "This works under any moon, as long as one's in the sky, but a waxing crescent is best, 'cause it takes less time." He looked around. "OK, guys, this lawn's nice and level. Can you see the moon from here?"

"It'll be over in the west," Ford said, pointing. "It's actually visible right now, but it's hard to see because the sun dims it out, but right—there." He pointed.

"Good, good, long as you can see it and it can see you." Jeff took a deep breath and then, very rapidly, he said, "We have to draw a magic circle in the grass no symbols just a double-lined circle about fifteen hats across and then we have to strip Mabel and put her in it."

"What's a hat?" Stan asked.

"Strip?" Mabel asked.

Ford absently murmured, "Gnomes measure shorter lengths by comparing them to the length of a Gnome hat—roughly thirty-six centimeters—"

"What's that in real distance?" Stan asked.

"Strip?" Mabel asked again.

"Oh, roughly fourteen and a half inches," Ford said. "So the diameter of the circle—inner or outer diameter, Jeff?"

"Outer," Jeff said. "Inner circle is about two hats smaller. Doesn't have to be exact."

"Strip?" Mabel asked for a third time.

Ford nodded. "So we're looking at a circle approximately sixteen yards in diameter. Soos, I'll need a mallet, a tent stake, and a cord about twenty-four and a half feet long, plus some of the marking chalk you use for the races in the Fourth of July games."

"Yes sir, Dr. Pines, dawg," Soos said, setting off at a trot for the house.

"At the risk of getting boring," Mabel yelled at the top of her lungs, "STRIP?"

"Well, yeah," Jeff said. "Except for the shoes, of course. See you have to dance naked three times widdershins—"

"He means counter-clockwise," Dipper said helpfully.

"I remember that, Broseph!"

"—while the sun is down and the moon is shining on you. It only works if you're naked," Jeff said.

"How do I get my jeans off?" Mabel wailed. "I can manage the sweater and my bra, and I think I could even pull my panties off—"

"Underwear," Candy corrected. "'Panties' is a demeaning and childish term."

"Whatever!" Mabel said. "But I can't get my jeans down over these shoes!"

"Gotta cut 'em off," Wendy said.

"These are designer jeans!" Mabel said.

"No way around it, Mabes," Wendy said. "Hey, Jeff, can she have company?"

"Oh, sure," Jeff said. "As many as you want. You could even charge admiss—"

"WE ARE NOT GONNA CHARGE!" Mabel shouted.

"OK, free show," Jeff said.

"What I'm getting at," Wendy said, "is that me and Candy can, you know, bring pants or a robe out for her for after the dancing and sort of make sure no guys peek."

"Sure," Jeff said. "You can do that. But it won't work unless you two dance, too."

"Naked? Oh my!" Candy said. She smiled at Dipper, who blushed.

"Naked," Jeff said firmly. "Hey, I didn't make the rules! Let me see. I should be able to remember this: For-hergian dym baem spel, forweard onfindan wot ye tulge tylg: neth thoth mones faeger geledan, wend skyclad maest niht, tymes thre done as taelcircul, wyddershyns trhag as lyb."

"Is that Gnomish?" Wendy asked.

"Cut my JEANS off?" Mabel asked.

"I think it's like Anglo-Saxon," Jeff said. "Old human talk. In your modern talk, it's more like, um—" he thought for a minute or two. "Like 'To break a faerie spell, this lesson learn ye well: Beneath the moon's fair light, dance sky-clad in the night, three times the circle round, Widdershins do ye bound, 'til ye dance off all the harm, third time be the charm."

"That is not very clear," Candy complained.

"OK," Wendy said. "I'm game if Candy is. But all the guys go inside, OK? And Melody and Abuelita have to, like, guard the windows so we don't have any Peeping Toms—"

"Or peeping Dippers," Candy added.

"These cost me fifty bucks," Mabel lamented. "And that was on sale!"

Soos returned with the requested implements. Ford tied a loop in one end of the cord, Soos pounded the stake into the ground, Ford looped the cord around it, pulled it out taut, and used it like a gigantic compass to chalk a sixteen-yard-diameter circle on the grass. He moved counterclockwise, just to be safe. Then he shortened the cord about three and a half feet and repeated, creating an inner circle. "There. Done."

While that had been going on, Wendy had gone inside to bring out a fresh pair of jeans for Mabel. "OK," she said. "All guys inside, now! And Jeff, you make sure that no Gnomes spy on us, understand?"

"We're not interested in human girls that way," Jeff said with dignity. "Well—we kind of used to be, when we had human-girl queens, but nowadays we're a republic."

"Whatever," Wendy said. "Leave us alone."

When the guys had all gone, Stan still muttering something about a pot of gold, Wendy said, "OK, Mabes, I'm lettin' you down a few feet." She was strong enough to loosen the loops of rope and carefully lowered Mabel just enough so her feet were still clear of the ground. All this time Mabel had been making dancing motions.

"Guess we should strip first," Wendy said to Candy.

"Can I make an embarrassing observation?" Candy asked in an excited kind of voice. "This is quite titillating!"

"No boob jokes!" Mabel yelled.

"Think of it as 'Truth or Dare,' Wendy said, peeling her undershirt over her head and unfastening her bra.

"Absolutely!" Candy said. She was already shucking off her Girl Scout shorts.

By then it was early dark, with a mischievous moon smiling down at the Shack. Wendy, starkers, picked up the scissors she had brought out with Mabel's jeans. "OK, I'm gonna start at your waistband and go down the left leg. Try to hold as still as possible."

"Don't poke me!"

"I'll try not to. Wow, these are sharp!" The scissors snipped through the waistband of the jeans, then down a long zig-zagging line along the left leg. Because Mabel couldn't completely stop kicking, it was a meandering cut, but at last Wendy snipped through the cuff without having nicked Mabel's leg. "Candy, you grab her right foot when I get down to the knee and see if you can hold it steady," Wendy said.

"Hey!" Mabel complained, "did you cut through my panties, too?"

"Underwear," Candy corrected.

"Easiest way, Mabes. Don't worry about it. Those aren't designer."

"Yeah, but still—it's kinda cool, isn't it?"

"Cool as in—" Candy began.

"Temperature!" Mabel snapped.

"If it was light enough, you could see goosebumps on my—uh, arms!" Wendy said. Candy struggled a little, but she held Mabel's right foot as steady as she could, though she got a few kicks from the left shoe. Wendy made short work of clipping through the right leg of the jeans, and she tossed the scissors aside. "Hope the socks don't matter!" she said.

"They are magical, too, I think," Candy said. "They should come off when the shoes do."

"Mabes, I'm gonna carry you to the circle. Try not to kick me."

"Do my best!" Mabel said. "Wait, let me get my sweater and bra off first."

She struggled but removed them, Wendy untied the ropes holding her in the swing, and then she picked Mabel—still air-dancing—up and carried her to the circle. Mabel said, "When you and Dipper go on your honeymoon, carry _him _across the threshold. I don't think he weighs much more than me!"

Grunting, Wendy set Mabel down inside the double circle, still just visible in the growing dark. "That way," she said. "Counter-clockwise. Me and Candy will dance behind you."

"We have all filled out very nicely!" Candy said, sounding pleased. "Mabel, try wearing some tighter tops! Teek will be happy!"

"Yeah, yeah," Mabel said. "Ugh! My legs are gonna fall off!"

"That's one round," Wendy encouraged. "Just two more to go."

"This," Candy said, doing a nude pirouette, "feels actually quite liberating!"

"We oughta do it once every new moon," Wendy said. "Feel the cool air in our—"

"Wendy!" yelled Mabel.

"—hair, I was gonna say. Mabes, excuse me, but you look funny doin' that straight-backed dance naked 'cept for shoes. Last time around, and let's hope this works!"

Mabel's shoes had evidently tumbled to the fact that their fun was coming to an end. From a jig they shifted into some high kicks for the finale.

But then, as if by magic, and I suppose it was, shoes and socks vanished in puffs of luminous green vapor and Mabel took a few last steps, trying to keep her balance. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Barefoot, barefoot!" Mabel yelped. She collapsed onto the grass, panting. "Ow! Barebutt, too! Where's my clothes?"

Candy ran and fetched her bra and sweater, Wendy handed her a fresh pair of underwear and replacement jeans, and then she got dressed, too.

When they had finished, Mabel did a double-take. "Candy, put on something for gosh sakes!"

"Very well. But you must admit, it was exciting!"

"I admit nothing!" Mabel said. "Whoa. my legs are shaky. Where's my real shoes—oh, right, soaking wet. Wendy, could you carry—"

"Nope," Wendy said firmly. "But you can wear my socks if you want. I don't mind walking barefoot as far as the porch."

Candy, now dressed again, found Mabel's still-sodden hiking shoes and they went inside. Abuelita had cooked dinner, and they walked into the scent of a flavorful Mexican spread.

Mabel hurried to the bathroom first, and Wendy went to her room for fresh socks. Then they gathered at the table, together with Stan and Ford, for chiles rellenos, steak milanesa, and the usual accompaniments of pico de gallo, rice, and refried beans.

"What's the matter, Mabes?" Wendy asked halfway through the meal. "Feeling sick?"

"No," Mabel said. "I'm just trying to watch what I eat. I weighed in the bathroom. I danced off three pounds today!"

And that might have been the happy ending, except—

After dinner, Ford had Mabel tell the whole story. He grimaced. "Oh, dear. Three bits of good luck, and the shoes were one. Mabel, I hate to tell you this, but you owe the leprecorn two more invocations."

"What? No!" Mabel said. "Let's call it quits!"

"Sorry," Ford told her. "The leprecorn said you'd have three bits of luck in the next twenty-four hours. So before sunset tomorrow, you'll have to sing those lines of the song while wishing for something that would be innocuous, but good fortune. Because if you don't—" he shook his head.

Mabel sighed. "I'm seventeen, nearly eighteen. I can take it. If I don't, what?"

"If you don't," Ford said, "then you'll have two incidents of bad fortune."

Mabel frowned. "But the good luck—the shoes—nearly killed me! So I guess bad luck would be—"

"Even worse," Ford said. "Sorry."

Mabel automatically reached for a tortilla. "Oh, boy," she said.


	3. "Nobody ever got lucky by doing nothing."

**Pure Luck**

**(July 26-27, 2017)**

* * *

**3: "Nobody ever got lucky by doing nothing."**

Wendy didn't often go in for girly talk. Growing up the only girl in a house of five guys had taught her a lot of things (tree-climbing and log-rolling, for instance), and of course she'd known Tambry ever since kindergarten, but in her pre-teen years Wendy had totally missed out on things like sleepovers, makeovers, and talk-overs. However, once the Mystery Twins had arrived in Gravity Falls and she'd become friends with Mabel, that had started to change. Mabel loved to talk, and Wendy found a confidante, although one somewhat younger than she was.

A little oddly, even after that, she'd become more open with Mabel than she ever would be with Tambry, her bff. For one thing, Tambry knew just a little too much about Wendy for comfort. More than any other of her friends, Tambry knew how much Wendy resented her dad leaning on her for all the cooking, all the cleaning, all the mending and sewing and so on, while still insisting she learn logging.

And she knew just how many boyfriends Wendy had—she tended to start dating one, but inevitably something happened (usually within days) and the break-up hit, and there went that boyfriend. Worse, she knew how far Wendy and Robbie went in their relationship, but only because Robbie couldn't help talking about it. And Tambry was always texting and sometimes she put more in the text than Wendy was comfortable with.

Fortunately, Tambry had also known Robbie like, forever, and she automatically discounted his boasting by fifty per cent, so she knew very well that Wendy and Robbie had never actually, you know, done it. But with a boaster like Robbie and a gossiper like Tambry, Wendy was always leery of what might happen.

Anyway, Wendy didn't ask Tambry her darkest secrets, and Tambry never asked Wendy about hers. Oh, she texted a couple of times with direct or implied questions, but Wendy had always responded "NOYB" and Tambry had let it alone.

Somehow Mabel was different. For example, Wendy had never told even Tambry—or anyone else except a friendly high-school counselor—about the time a high-school football star, Hendry Steffasaen, had sexually assaulted her (she'd fought him off, but later he'd claimed otherwise and had made her life miserable for a while), but she did confess all that to Mabel, and that confession had given her the courage later to speak up when the same guy had not only attacked but raped a girl at his new school. That jerk was now in prison.

Anyway. That Wednesday evening, Wendy and Mabel went outside for a while to talk. Somehow they gravitated to the bonfire clearing—that was where a great many heart-to-hearts took place, and where Wendy and Dipper occasionally went for a little comfort and snogging when pressures in the Shack got too great for them. It was nice: trees all around, giving it a cozy enclosed feel, but stars shone overhead, you had a couple of logs to sit on, even a fire pit if you felt like a small campfire while you lounged and told and listened to yarns from contented friends.

"So what's the deal?" Wendy asked Mabel that night. "You over this thing yet, or what?"

"I don't know," Mabel admitted. "There's some kind of stupid magic rule that these things come in threes, Grunkle Ford says, so I guess I gotta sing that dopey song, or the first two lines, and concentrate on something I want to happen and see if luck makes it happen. Grunkle Ford says if I don't, the leprecorn will make something bad happen instead."

"You mean bad as opposed to trapping you in crazy magic shoes that might make you dance yourself to death?"

"Yeah. Even worse than that." Mabel sighed. "But I got a rotten feeling that the leprecorn will screw up any luck that comes my way. Like if I wished for an easy day at work, I might go into a coma or something. It's not fair. I didn't even ask for any of this—he just said to do it, to sing the lines and then good stuff would happen."

Wendy picked up a stick, a fallen branch, and moodily prodded the cold ashes of a bygone fire. "Maybe from his point of view, he was being good to you, man—maybe somebody like a fairy or pixie or some deal could take of the shoes easily. But a human—well, you know that time you ate some Gnome jam and turned into the incredible Hulk and kinda went on a rampage. Fairy biz and human biz don't mix, that's all."

"Yeah, I know that now," Mabel said. "But anyway, before sundown tomorrow, I gotta do the song again twice and both times wish for something that the leprecorn can't screw up. I don't know if I'm smart enough for that. Dipper might be, but not me."

"Ask him for help, dude!"

Mabel thought about that for at least a full minute before reluctantly replying, "Nah, I always do that, and he always gets the short end of the stick when I do." Mabel leaned forward and hugged her knees. "No kidding, I always used to, um, well, manipulate him. I mean, I'd studied Mom's methods, and I could guilt Dipper into doing anything I wanted just like that." She snapped her fingers.

"How come Dipper can't do that?" Wendy asked. She snapped her own fingers and, like Mabel, produced a distinct pop. "His finger-snaps are just a little _thap _sound."

Mabel snapped her fingers again a couple of times. "Oh, there's lots of stuff I can do naturally that Dipper can't. Vice-versa too, though. He's a lot better keyboarder than I am, and he's better at most games except mini-golf. He's naturally ambidextrous, too—did you ever notice that?"

"Yeah. He does most things right-handed, though," Wendy said.

"That's his dominant hand, but he's about ninety per cent as good with his left, too. He's been like that all his life. I wanted to be like him, but I had to train myself to use both hands. He was a righty by preference, but I was born a lefty and my right hand was my dumb clumsy one. I started working on it in kindergarten, and by third grade I could write with either hand. Heck, I'd seen Dipper write with both hands at the same time! And different stuff. Like, he could do English homework with his right hand while doing history homework with his left."

"Impressive."

Mabel chuckled. "Meh, not so much. It still took him just as long, 'cause he'd have to think slow to keep from mixing them up with each other. But since the time when we were just toddlers, he used either hand without even thinking about it. Hey, when you and Dip get cuddle and romantic, does he use—"

"Don't even go there, girl," Wendy said, but in a friendly tone. "Hey, that reminds me—was I mistaken tonight, or is Candy carrying a little bit of a torch for Dip?"

"Aw, she got a crush on him back when we were twelve," Mabel said. "It didn't go anywhere, though. You remember—no, wait, you weren't along. We took a road trip with Grunkle Ford to all these tourist traps, and the whole time, Dipper was trying to get over you and he flirted with like a dozen girls, and for some reason that attracted Candy and she kind of hit on him—"

"Oh, right, Dipper told me about that," Wendy said. "Was that the time that Soos got lost and nobody realized it until after the rest of you got home?"

"Yeah, for a day or two. He got stuck in the middle of a corn maze. A day after the rest of us got back to the Shack, Animal Control brought Soos home. That was when Grunkle Stan's competitors had messed up the place—"

"Oh, yeah, I remember _that _part," Wendy said. "We had to practically re-build the place. Yeah, I remember Soos coming home and Stan sending him up on the roof to do repairs as soon as he stepped through the door. Why did Animal Control bring him home instead of the police?"

"Oh, 'cause the cops had sent a bloodhound to track him down, and it got lost in the maze with him and Blubs and Durland were scared to go in, even though they could hear the dog baying—is that the right word? Baying, and Soos yelling, 'Like, help, dudes!' The police called in Animal Control, they brought a helicopter in and tracked down the bloodhound, and that led them to Soos, too, so they gave him a lift back."

"Typical Soos. Anyhow, getting back to Candy—she seemed sort of titillated about maybe prancing around while Dip was spying us, and she was more, um, enthusiastic about dancin' around bare-assed than I thought she'd be. I mean, you took to it right off, and I didn't mind, long as those damn Gnomes didn't come around to gawk—anyways, I hope they didn't. But Candy was like, aching for the chance to do it. Think she hoped Dipper might actually peek at her?"

"Maybe," Mabel said. "Candy and Adam, um, well, you know—I_ don't_ think they're hopping in bed all the time, but maybe Candy's ready for that step, and I do know they've skinny-dipped and all. 'Cause me and Teek have sort of double-dated with them at the time they did that. Hey, have you and Dipper ever—"

"Skinny-dipped? You know we have," Wendy said. "And we've seen each other without much clothes, you know, even cuddled with each other that way. But no home runs if you know what I mean. Least, not the kind you're thinking of."

"Yeah, you and him can get it on just by your telepathy stuff. Does that make you and him technical virgins?"

That made Wendy chuckle. "Guess so. I'm not real clear on the rules."

"Don't tell Dip I said this, but I'm real proud of you guys," Mabel told her. "Waiting until the wedding and all. Even Grenda didn't do that. Well, she and Marius were engaged from the time they were like fourteen. That's normal for Austrian nobility, Marius says. And I know for sure they did the deed starting like a year before they tied the knot. Grenda says it was everything she'd dreamed about. Kind of like deep kissing with pro wrestling tossed in."

"Wrestling?"

"What can I say? According to Grenda, Marius likes it rough," Mabel said with a shrug. "Hey, I got an idea—what if I wish for some good luck but not for me? For somebody else instead? A totally unselfish wish? That's good, right?"

"Don't ask me," Wendy said. "Ford might have an idea about that, but not me. I don't know all this fairy lore. But don't ask Stan! You know he'd want to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or some junk and wind up getting everybody in trouble."

"Yeah, he's kind of greedy."

Wendy snorted. "Kind of? In the dictionary under 'greed,' it says, 'see Pines, Stanley.' Oh, it doesn't make sense. Sheila says they got enough money to last them a lifetime already."

"It's just his obsession," Mabel said. "Anyway, I wouldn't ask for money or anything like that. You just know the leprecorn would dump like a million bucks of hot drug money on him, and then the cops would come in, and then he'd wind up in a Colombian cell with Jorge and Rico again—"

"He tell you _that_ story?" Wendy asked, sounding surprised.

"Oh, yeah, and he still gets Christmas cards from Jorge. 'Course, they usually say something like 'Feliz Navidad, Yanqui Scum,' but like they say, it's the thought, you know. But like I say, no money wishes. I think if he needs money real bad, Grunkle Stan just goes to some casino. He's real lucky at gambling already, and I wouldn't make a wish that might take that away from him. But for somebody else—something real nice and harmless—anything you and Dipper might like?"

"Leave us out of it!" Wendy said hastily. "Seriously, nothing that might jinx us, OK? We're less than six weeks away from the wedding—"

"Am I invited?"

"Sure," Wendy said. "But remember it's just a simple civil ceremony, low-key, us down in the courthouse with a judge presiding, no big deal, so no presents or decorations or fancy dresses or anything. Save all that for the church service in December, OK?"

"OK," Mabel said.

Wendy didn't let up: "Promise?"

Mabel sighed. "OK, I promise. But I wish you'd—"

"Ta-ta-ta-ta!" Wendy pressed a finger to Mabel's lips. "No wishing out loud! Not while the leprecorn junk is going on!"

"Right, right," Mabel said. She yawned and stretched. "What time is it?"

"Between nine-thirty and ten," Wendy said.

"Early, but I think I'll go back and turn in. All that dancing kinda wore me out. OK, so I'll try to think of some unselfish wish that couldn't possibly backfire. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll ask Grunkle Ford to help me brainstorm."

They got up and walked back toward the Shack, the bare soil of the tram tracks crunching under their feet. The sky overhead was clear—well, on closer examination a little hazy, but no heavy clouds. Way off over the distant mountains some stormclouds had piled up, and distant lightning flickered, so far away that they heard no thunder at all. Right overhead, the high thin hazy layer barely blurred the stars. The little sliver of moon had long since set. All around, and especially on the woods side, night insects chirped and chittered. Mabel asked, "How come there are never any fireflies?"

"Oh, we got 'em," Wendy said, "but the Oregon type don't flash and just barely glow. You have to look down in the grass to see them at all. You have the regular kind in California?"

"I've seen some now and then," Mabel said. "Never a whole lot, though. But I remember when we went to Florida back when Dip and I were little, they flew around at night and just kept flashing. They're real bright, that kind out there, and they have this yellow light. Very pretty to see. The California kind doesn't do as much shining, I guess, but I have seen a few, and I've never noticed any up here."

"Western fireflies are a little different from eastern ones," Wendy said. "Maybe when Teek's in film school off there in Georgia you can go visit him. I bet you'd see some then!"

"Yeah, if I went in the summer," Mabel said. "But Teek's planning on spending his summers here. So all the way through college, I'll be coming back to the Shack to work from June through August and get together with my boyfriend." After a pause, she asked a little hopefully, "How about you and Dip?"

"We're gonna do that, too," Wendy said. She put an arm around Mabel's waist. "Hey, don't worry, man. Dipper's your brother for life. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

"I hope not," Mabel said. "It still bothers me that we'll be sleeping under separate roofs when we start college in the fall. Even if he'll only be five miles away, that's five miles further than we've ever been apart before."

"It's what being a grown-up means, girl. It'll work out somehow," Wendy assured her.

They went inside. Soos and the others always retired early, the kids and Abuelita to sleep and Soos and Melody to watch TV and do whatever married people do behind closed doors.

However, Dipper was sprawled on the sofa, watching an old science fiction movie on TV. Mabel said her goodnights and left as Wendy settled in next to him. She put one arm over his shoulder, they held hands with their free hands, and instantly both of them got that far-away, happy, dreamy expression that told Mabel they were communing silently.

Feeling just a tiny bit envious, Mabel got ready for bed, taking a little extra care—for example, she rubbed lotion on her feet, which were not blistered but felt chafed from all the dancing over rough ground. She pulled on her old sleep shirt, the one with the floppy disk that few people her own age even recognized these days, and lay back with her arms crossed behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Tripper, who had already been snoozing on the floor, hopped up to join her in bed, turned around three times, and settled down with a contented doggy sigh.

An incorruptible wish for good luck. Something not for herself, but for another person. Had to be something nice and unselfish.

"If I give the leprecorn any kind of handle," she told herself aloud, "the little creep's gonna latch onto it and twist everything up. So it has to be something special and something lucky. And something temporary."

Yeah, that was vital. If she'd wished to have dry shoes for just enough time to get back to the Shack, that would have been so much better than getting stuck with them indefinitely. What had Grunkle Stan told her that one time? "Kid, everybody makes mistakes. The dumb people make the same ones over an' over. Be smart. Learn from your mistakes, and then you can make brand-new ones without repeating!"

She bit her lip. Then she softly sang the first two lines of "Danny Boy" and told the darkness, "I wish that tomorrow Teek would have the best luck of his whole life, but just for that one day, and _then_ I don't want bad luck to happen to him or the good stuff that happens to him be reversed, but just that he has that great day to remember, so nothing bad's gonna happen, right? Because I love him, so don't you dare try to mess this up, or I'll hunt you down, bash in your derby, and lop off that colorful tail of yours!"

She sighed, and then she turned on her side, cuddled up to Tripper—who seemed completely unaware of her struggle and frustration that day, lucky him—and with her arm around the dog, she fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Fairy Tales Can Come True and Turn You Black and Blue

**Pure Luck**

**(July 27, 2017)**

* * *

**4: Fairy Tales Can Come True and Turn You Black and Blue**

Thursday morning started out normal. It broke cool and partly cloudy, and Dipper and Wendy did their daily run, this time downtown, up and down the streets (no traffic at that hour), around Circle Park and around the water tower, and then back up the long slope to the Shack driveway. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Well, that's not quite true. A gray mouse did stop them briefly on the road back from town, sitting on its haunches, its tiny front paws spread out and its absurdly high voice squeaking, "Don't step on our babies!" And then about fifty young mouselings, accompanied by five concerned-looking adults, crossed the road in a modified and disorganized scamper.

"Dancing mice," Wendy murmured to Dipper. "They start migrating this time of year. All clear, little guy?"

The first mouse gave them a traffic-director's wave. "Come on through. And I'm not a guy, I'm a lady!"

"Sorry," Wendy said. "My apologies."

"Accepted." The mouse dropped to all fours and ran after the column of young mice, now only visible as a moving ripple in the grass on the verge.

"The first time I ever saw them," Dipper said, "they took over the attic as a ballroom for their annual dance. They'd been camping out up there over the winter, and they didn't know that Mabel and I would be sleeping up there in the summer."

"They put up a fight when you kicked them out?"

"No, Mabel gave them all the cheese in the house, plus about half a jar of peanut butter. We've been on friendly terms since then. We don't often see any but when we do, they're polite. They're sort of special mice, you know."

"Well, yeah," Wendy said as they jogged toward the Shack driveway. "They talk."

"That, but they're really neat. They don't even leave droppings."

"Ew."

"No, they're like Tripper, they go outside to, you know, do their business. Good thing Stan never saw them. He'd have them doing two shows a day in the Shack, and I think they're better off doing their own mouse things."

They got back, settled in to a nice breakfast—Dipper made cheese omelets, since they'd been talking about mice and cheese, with a side of sausage links and thick sourdough toast. The aroma attracted Mabel, who claimed the omelet Dipper had first made for himself, so he quickly cooked a replacement and finally got to sit down and eat. "How are you feeling, Sis?"

"OK," Mabel said. "I tried to do a safe wish last night. We'll see how that works out."

"Hope it's not more trouble," Wendy said.

"Nah," Mabel replied, her mouth full of cheesy egg. "I made it for Teek, and it's a good one, so no way could it go wrong."

Famous, as they say, last words.

Teek showed up at nine—technically, he didn't start cooking in the snack bar until ten-thirty, but he was keenly aware that, come the end of the month, he'd have to take off for film school all the way across the country, and he hung with Mabel as much as he could.

They had just opened the gift shop, and no tourists had yet showed up. They'd fallen into the pre-Labor Day lull, and business, though more bustling than in the old days when Stan was Mr. Mystery, was more evenly paced and sedate. Dipper had stocked and opened the register, Mabel and Wendy had tidied up the shelves, Tripper was outside running laps out past the Bottomless Pit and then back around the Shack, Soos was out preparing the tram for the Mystery Trail tours, and all was calm.

"What's the matter, Sweets?" Mabel asked after she had given Teek his hello kiss. "You look a little off."

"I don't know," Teek said. "Good news, maybe. I got the strangest phone call, and I guess I ought to return it. What time is it in Georgia?"

"Like noon," Dipper said. "They're three hours ahead."

"Guess I'd better wait until after their lunch hour," Teek said.

"From the film school?" Mabel asked. "Ooh! Exciting!"

"Um . . . maybe," Teek said. "Here, it went to voice mail because it must've come when I was in the shower or something. Let me put it on speaker and I'll play it."

He put his phone on the counter, punched a couple of buttons, and then, like warm butter oozing over pecan pancakes, a girl's—maybe a woman's, but it sounded like a girl's—voice came out all sweet and syrupy: "Hello, there, T.K. O'Grady. I do like the sound of your voice on your little old answering message! This here's Mary Beth Colter. I've been assigned to be your little old mentor at G-CAF this coming semester, and I just thought I'd call and introduce myself. Listen, sugar, when you get a minute, call me at (404) 637—"

Mabel shut the phone off. "Who the heck was that?" she asked. "And why does she talk like her little old mouth is just stuffed plum full of—of grits and fried chicklets?"

"I never heard of her," Teek said. "But I guess she's an upperclassman at the Georgia College of Arts and Film. Every freshman gets assigned to a junior or senior mentor who sort of guides them—"

Mabel was turning red. Rapidly. "No," she said. "No, no, no, no. Ask for a different one!"

"I—don't know if I can," Teek said. "But I'll try to find out. Anyway, I'm supposed to call her back. I'll do that after I finish with lunch here—shouldn't be a rush today, so maybe at one this afternoon? That'd be like four in Atlanta, right?"

"Right," Dipper said.

"And you can stand right beside me while I do it," Teek told Mabel. "If we can do face-time, I'll introduce you as my girlfriend, and we'll—"

"Fiancée!" Mabel said. "I'll move my promise ring over to my left hand. It's not much of a lie, so—"

"If it'll make you happy, sure!" Teek said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Um, Mabes, come and help me with something in the stockroom before the tourists start to show up," Wendy said.

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, go help."

When the girls had left, Dipper said, "She gets jealous quick, Teek."

"But this wasn't my fault. I don't even know this Mary Beth girl. Why should that make Mabel jealous?"

"It just does," Dipper said.

Teek looked upset. "Do you think I should try to call the Admissions people at the Georgia College of Arts and Film? Try to get another mentor?"

"I'd say wait," Dipper told him. "This Mary Beth may just be, you know, a Southern belle. Just polite and Southern hospitality and all that. At least wait until you talk to her again. Maybe Wendy can calm Sis down."

* * *

"Seriously, Mabes, chill," Wendy said. "It's not like Teek's been sneaking around behind your back or anything. This girl doesn't even know him—"

"She got his phone number!" Mabel retorted.

"Well, yeah, from his college application," Wendy said reasonably. "Look, this buddy system they got's probably just so new students can get guided around the campus and junk. Where the bookstore is, where the Registrar's office is, that kind of thing. The older student just answers questions and stuff. And remember, she's gonna be older than him, so that will make—"

Mabel, her arms crossed and her lip pouting, gave Wendy a withering glare.

"It's kinda different with me and Dip," Wendy said. "We got to know each other over like five years. Look, if some guy was gonna come and work for the Shack and Soos asked me to show him the ropes, and he was a couple of years younger than me, I'd do it, no problem, and Dip wouldn't be jealous."

"No," Mabel agreed, but with an edge of sarcasm. "He'd just come to you with tears in his eyes and say, 'If you love him, I'll let you go. And you can keep the ring.'"

"He wouldn't," Wendy said. "He'd be reasonable about it. OK, look, if it's so important to you, I'll bet you that Teek can get a different mentor just by asking. But, girl, you're not gonna make him feel confident about himself if you throw a jealous fit."

"I am not having a fit!" Mabel said, stamping the floor.

"Well, you're letting it get to you, and it's probably nothing."

Mabel slapped her hand to her forehead. "I did this!"

"What?" Wendy asked. "How?"

"I made a wish that Teek would have a lucky day!" Mabel said. "Last night! But when I said I wanted him to be lucky, I didn't mean I wanted him to _get_ lucky! Hey, can you cover for me?"

"Wait, wait," Wendy said. "You're not going to go looking for that leprecorn again—"

"Watch me!" Mabel said. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Hang on," Wendy said. "You're not going alone. Let me call Stan, and if he'll come and help work the gift shop and Museum, I'll go out with you."

"Because you don't think I can kick its butt myself?" asked Mabel.

"Nope, I'm pretty sure you could. But, you know, I wouldn't want you to walk into a bear trap or anything. Come on, Mabel. This is your big sister talking to you."

That made Mabel smile. A little. "Yeah," she said. "I guess I need a mentor myself, huh? OK, thanks. Call Grunkle Stan and see if he's up for it."

Stan was almost always up for a round of playing the role of Mr. Mystery, and he said "Gimme ten minutes."

He showed up on the dot, just as a few tourists arrive. In full Mr. Mystery garb, fez, eyepatch, white shirt, red string tie, black suit and shoes, and his 8-ball-headed walking cane, he strode out to meet a small van packed with parents, grandparents, and three kids. "Welcome to the Mystery Shack!" he rumbled.

"Let's go before he starts the tour," Wendy said. She and Mabel left by way of the Museum. Soos had the tram idling.

"If Soos begins the tram tour," Mabel said, "we could hitch a ride."

"Yeah, but he's not scheduled to start for twenty minutes, and in that time we could walk farther than a mile," Wendy said. "Come on. The tram's slow. If he catches up to us, we can jump aboard."

However, Soos didn't catch up—Wendy said she guessed Stan was doing the Museum tour first—and they passed the Talking Rock and Mabel showed Wendy the twisting little path that led into the woods.

"Oh, yeah, Small Falls," Wendy said. "I've seen it before. Not very big, but kinda pretty, and a watering hole for deer. If you want to see some, just come early in the morning and sit quiet and watch."

"Right now all I want to see is the leprecorn's little rainbow butt!" Mabel said.

"Don't do anything impulsive," Wendy warned. "And don't kick him or anything. You should never kick anything supernatural. It just pisses them off."

"You've chopped them up with an axe!" Mabel said.

"An axe is more persuasive than a foot, and no, I didn't bring my axe with me," Wendy said. "Promise me that if we find the little squirt, you'll try to be calm and just talk to him, OK?"

"Ask me to do something easy!" Mabel said with a snort. "But, yeah, I'll try."

The little waterfall looked quite different in the morning light. No rainbow, for one thing—the sun had to hit it just right and at the correct angle. Cold Creek tumbled down the short bluff and into a round pool of water, not very wide or deep, with a muddy bank. Wendy pointed to some little split-oval marks in it. "Deer," she said.

"Shh." Mabel said. "Listen. If you hear 'Danny Boy,' that's him."

But all they heard was the rush and splash of water and the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. "Maybe you should call him," Wendy suggested.

"Hey! Leprecorn!" Mabel bellowed. Some birds broke cover and took to the air, but they heard no Irish music whatever.

"Rats!" Mabel said. "He came from the far side of the creek, right about there. If I could jump across—maybe you could do it. You got longer legs. But I don't want to get my feet soaked again. That's how this mess started."

"Wait here," Wendy said. "I'll see if I can't find a way over." She went into the woods and was gone for a while. Mabel stood listening for music that did not sound. She did hear about five hundred birds chirping, trilling, cawing, and singing, along with the background drumbeat of a woodpecker or two, but no human or fairy voices. Then Wendy crunched back, holding a stick like Candy's walking staff, but longer. "Took a while," Wendy said. "I had to find a fallen sapling that was dry and that I could cut through with my pocketknife. Here we go."

Mabel stared at the pole. "Uh—I can't walk across on that. I'm not a tightrope walker."

"Guess again," Wendy said. "Stand back a little."

Mabel did, Wendy grasped the stick toward the middle, took a short run, and pole-vaulted across the creek. She shoved the stick, and it fell back, partly in the water but mostly on Mabel's side of the bank. "Come on!" Wendy said. "I know you can do it."

"Tell that to my feet." But Mabel was game. She picked up the staff and held it. "This way?"

"Put your right hand lower. Yeah, about there. Now, try to plant the point of the pole 'bout halfway across the creek bed. Jump and make sure you jump hard enough to take you over. As you come to the top of your arc, swing your legs forward and arch your back. You should clear the water by three or four feet that way."

She didn't, but she did clear it by a good foot and a half, landing in soft but not squooshy mud. Wendy grabbed her and pulled her upright. "See? Easy, right?"

"Well, I did it, anyhow," Mabel said. "We don't have a clear run-up on this side, though, so how do we get back?"

"Me, I'd recommend we climb up the bluff a little further along. Then we can follow the creek about halfway to the Talking Rock, and it's narrow enough there to hop across. Used to be a fallen log across it, too, and if that's not rotted away or washed away in a flood, we can use it as a bridge."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Mabel asked.

Wendy shrugged. "When I was ten and eleven and twelve, I played in the woods all the time. Dad did a lot of work for Stan, and I'd tag along and go off by myself and explore. I'll betcha I know places even Stan doesn't."

"But you never ran into the leprecorn?" Mabel asked.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Who knows?" Wendy said. "Told you once, I stopped believing in unicorns when I was like five years old, and I didn't know they were real until that time Dr. Pines sent us off to get some of their hair."

That cheered Mabel up. "That was a good fight!"

"Well—we got the hair!" Wendy said. "That Celestabellebethabelle, though—man, what a stuck-up bag of horse droppings."

"She's not so bad," Mabel said. "The unicorns had a rough time during Weirdmageddon. I'm kinda friendly with them now. In a tense way."

They scouted along the bluff for a few hundred yards. "Don't think we're gonna find Mr. Leprecorn today," Wendy said.

"Guess not. Shoot. Wait a minute, though—I haven't tried singing the song."

"Mabes," Wendy warned, "not a great idea!"

"I won't even make a wish," Mabel said.

"Think," Wendy said. "Did the leprecorn really tell you that you could make a wish and it would come true? Or was it just generally that singing the song would bring some kind of luck and that you could sorta specify what it could be?"

"There's a difference?" Mabel frowned. "Come to think of it, yeah, more like that. So even if I don't make a wish, if I sing the lines, something's gonna happen."

"Could be luck," Wendy said. "But could be bad luck."

"Yeah, I never thought of that," Mabel admitted.

"Let's walk back as far as the falls. We might have missed the leprecorn," Wendy said. "If we don't find him in like twenty minutes, we'll get across the creek and head back to the Shack. Deal?"

"I guess," Mabel said.

They came to the pool beneath the Falls. Mabel sighed. "Guess it's best to go back and wait until Teek can phone Miss Bless Yo' Li'l Ol' Heart."

"She didn't sound that bad on the recording," Wendy said, grinning.

"Y'all reckon all the girls at that there Jawja college goin' to sound like li'l ol' her?"

"Doubt it," Wendy said. "Their students come from all over. Even California and Oregon. She must be a home-grown peach."

"Yeah."

Wendy studied the lay of the land. "I think we can vault back across if we move downstream a few feet. Yeah, this is open enough. Ready to try?"

Mabel gazed at the stream. "I guess. But I'm still mad at the leprecorn, and I still have to make one more wish or whatever."

"Let's worry about that after we get back," Wendy said. She picked up the sapling and poised herself for the short run and jump, but stopped because Mabel grabbed her sleeve.

"There it is!" Mabel said.

"What?" Wendy asked.

"'Danny Boy!' Tenor! It's somewhere that way, and I think it's coming closer. Yeah, hear it now?"

Wendy stared at her friend.

Because, frankly, she couldn't hear any music at all.


	5. Duel at Small Falls

**Pure Luck**

**(July 27, 2017)**

* * *

**5: Duel at Small Falls**

A little later that morning, Tripper had begged treats from tourists who had none to give until he'd decided there must be better things to do.

He'd greeted a bus and had photobombed tourists posing in front of the totem pole. They loved it and called him a cute dog and scratched his ears, which was some consolation for not being given snacks. After the visitors went inside the Shack, Tripper had followed the track of an opossum that, some time in the night, had trundled around on the lawn, digging for (probably) grubs and worms. At some point, though, it had climbed a pine tree and was snoozing somewhere out of nose range.

When Tripper lost the possum scent, he got bored, and he sniffed for Mabel.

Mabel was one of his favorite people in the world. He didn't really think of her and Dipper as his owners, but more like, well, to be honest, like his pets, whom he loved. He could always pick up Mabel's track. She had obviously gone down the Mystery Trail. Wendy might be with her, but that was harder to be sure of since Wendy and Dipper often ran down the trail.

Being a smart dog and an opportunist, Tripper didn't immediately follow the scent—the trail was well-defined, and she more than likely wouldn't turn aside from it anytime soon—but instead, the dog snuck aboard the next tram for the tour. He felt confident now that Wendy had gone down the Mystery Trail with Mabel. Their scents were equally unfaded.

Wendy liked Tripper and now and then slipped him the occasional puppy treat. It would be nice, the dog decided, to follow the two girls and surprise them. And the tram meant he might even gain on them, and if a happy little dog runs up to two girls who didn't expect them, they have to squeal and pet him and give him tasty bits of jerky.

It's in the contract somewhere.

Soos, up front at the steering wheel and on the microphone, didn't notice Tripper at all as he spieled cheerfully: "On your left, dudes, is the Outhouse of Mystery! If you go in there, you'll be overcome by a sense of the eerie and the smell, too. Beware! Once my boss went in there for like ten minutes, and when he came out, hours had passed! Stay away, guys! Ladies, you wouldn't want to go in there anyway, take it from me, Soos! Now, off to the right coming up, sometimes we see Gnomes at work, harvesting leaves and bark for their houses. Look for little guys with big pointy red ice-cream cone caps. If we miss them, you can see some of them do a demonstration of Gnome dancing later on today . . . ."

When Soos stopped the tram so people could take photos of the Talking Rock, Tripper slipped off and nosed the ground. Ah, there was Mabel and there was Wendy, too. He followed the scent, and Soos didn't even notice him. If the tourists did, they probably assumed he was just a dog. Most people did.

To a point, they were right. He was indeed a dog, but an exceptionally intelligent and focused one. Otherwise, he might have been distracted. He could smell a thousand things along the trail into the woods—Mabel and Wendy, but also Gnomes, a possible Jackalope, Mitties (small paranormal wildcats indigenous to the Valley. They didn't have much magic, but once or twice a day they could teleport up to seven feet, an ability they sometimes used in stalking birds and rodents. They also slept or lay around and daydreamed for about twenty hours a day), a possible Manotaur (though that spoor was days old), and other normal and paranormal beasties.

However, feeling lonely, Tripper stuck to the trail. Soon enough, he heard voices ahead of him, and he would have broken into a run except for another sound, that of "Danny Boy" being sung in a high tenor.

Something about it was uncanny.

And wrong.

Tripper lowered his head, the fur on his neck and shoulders bristled out, and softly he began to growl. And to step forward carefully, one slow paw at a time.

Nobody messed with Mabel when Tripper was around.

* * *

"I see it," Wendy said, "but I don't hear anything!"

"Gah," Mabel whispered. "How can you not? It just plays over and over and over. Remember how the unicorns can play rave music through their horns? It's like that, but stuck!"

If the leprecorn was aware of their presence, it was ignoring them. With its stubby legs folded beneath it, it had settled down for a nap in the morning sun, at least to all appearances. Its eyes were closed, its bearded chin rested on its chest, and it snored oddly, with an "Ah t-t-t-t-t" sound.

And "Danny Boy," at least to Mabel's ears, cycled relentlessly.

The two girls crept closer—from fifty feet away to no more than fifteen. The leprecorn slumbered on. Whispering into Mabel's ear, Wendy said, "I don't like this, dude. The music's gotta be magic. Maybe it's the leprecorn's way of trapping victims or some deal. Let's go back to the trail and call Dr. P."

"Nuh-uh," Mabel whispered back. "I made this mess, and I gotta clean it up. That's the Code of the West."

"I don't think so," Wendy whispered.

"Whatever. I'm gonna wake him up."

"I still think—"

Too late. In a sing-songy voice, Mabel crooned, "Oh, Mr. Leprecorn! Wake up, please!"

The leprecorn's big puppy-eyes snapped open and he leaped to his hoofs. "Begorrah, who's there? Oh, 'tis you, is it, lass?"

"'Tis!" Mabel said. "And this 'tis my friend Wendy. And why do you grant wishes that screw people so bad, you little Irish monster?"

"I still can't hear any music," Wendy said.

"Cushlamachree!" exclaimed the leprecorn, as if offended. "What d'ye mean by that baseless statement, lass? No monster be I at all, at all! And if the luck I bring ye is not to your liking, sure and that's entirely your own fault and not down to me at all!"

"You left out an 'at all,'" Wendy pointed out helpfully.

"Ah, do me smiling Irish eyes deceive me, or be ye a daughter of the Auld Sod?"

"Leave my dad out of this, dude," Wendy said.

"'Tis just that your hair is the fair color like that of the tresses crowning the sweet lassies from the Auld Country, is all. Top o' the morning to ye! Be as welcome as the first robin-song of a fair spring morning, to be sure!"

"Yeah, yeah," Wendy said. "How come my friend here can hear the music from your horn, but I can't?"

"And what's up with the phone call my sweetie got from some ding-dong Southern belle this morning?" Mabel demanded "Is that your doing?"

The leprecorn backed away a step or two. "Wait, wait, Wendy girl, first say true, be ye telling me ye hear no note o' the sacred tune of the Emerald Isle?"

"I can hear your squeaky voice, but that's all," Wendy said. "Come on, answer Mabel. Why did you stick her with those shoes? Why did her good wish for Teek turn out to be one that would make her mad? What's your game?"

"Yeah," Mabel demanded. "What's your game, little guy?"

"I—sorry, I just remembered, I've got an emergency appointment with a wolverine—" The little creature whirled and broke into a gallop.

Only to skid to a halt a moment later as a stick jammed into the ground right in front of him. He _oofed_ as he ran into it. Wendy, who had picked it up and rammed it down to cut him off, moved to block him in against the stone face of the bluff. "No, you don't. Look, we're gonna get some answers. And you're talkin' to two lassies that kicked four unicorns'—"

"Assies!" added Mabel. "What's the deal? Why is our so-called good luck turning into garbage?"

"Now, now," said the little leprecorn, its already high-pitched voice rising in evident fear. "Never did I promise ye _good _luck, ye know!"

"Nuh-uh!" Mabel said. "I remember, you said you'd bring me good luck for twenty-four hours—"

"Devil I did! Ye weren't listening! 'Twas pure luck I promised ye, and pure it is! Ye asked for dry shoes to your feet, and didn't I give ye the wearin' o' the green shoes? The purest shoes ye can find—wonderful for the dancing!"

"Yeah, but my boyfriend got a call from this—this hussy who sweet-talked him—"

"And is it not the dream of every young man that pretty girls will charm him and speak flattering words? Answer me that!"

"It's not his dream that I'll go kick her butt! And I'll do it, too, if she keeps up this sweetie-face talk!"

"Well, if 'tis unsatisfied ye be, ye have one wish left. Easy it is to unwish them, girl. Just sing the tune and—"

"Don't do it!" Wendy warned. "There's some trick. You try it, Mabes, and he might, I don't know, kill you or steal your soul or some deal—"

"Wheest wi' yer witch-talk!" snarled the leprecorn. "'Tis already too late, ye red-headed Cailleach!"

"You take that back!" yelled Mabel, who didn't know what a Cailleach* was but who resented her friend's being called one.

"See, Mabes?" Wendy said, her eyes narrowed. "This little snot is up to something. I don't know what, but he doesn't like having us asking about what he's scheming!"

"Stop playing that song for half a minute!" Mabel said. "I can't hear myself think!"

"'Tis none of my doin'," the leprecorn insisted. "The horn plays what the horn plays, and devil a bit of control I have over it, I tell ye!"

"How come I can't hear it?" Wendy demanded. "Candy and Mabel both could hear it, but me, zip! What's up with that?"

"How should I know?" whined the leprecorn. "Maybe 'tis a bad ear for fine music ye have—"

"Ha!" Mabel said. "That's not what I call fine music! Listen to this!"

And she belted out a verse of "I Could Have Danced All Night," which did sound fine—to Wendy—but which made the leprecorn wince. "Nay!" he yelled, covering his pointy ears with his hands. "Cease yer brattle! That pains me!"

"It's a song from a musical I starred in!" Mabel yelled. "And I got great reviews!"

"But listen to the strains of me own music, girl. Let it soothe ye and—"

"It's like hypnotic or some deal!" Wendy said. "Look if your horn's to blame, I got a fix for that." She flexed her fingers in a meaningful way.

"Back away!"

Wendy actually did take a step back as an invisible force pushed against her—like trying to stand against a hurricane-force wind.

Mabel saw that, though she felt no such force. "You leave Wendy alone!" she said. "And stop all this craziness! Take the—the luck or the spell or whatever it is off my boyfriend!"

"Ha, ha!" the leprecorn said. Well, it was a laugh, but an unusually well-enunciated one. "Naught ye can do would force me to that! And you're welcome not to call on me luck again evermore—but after sundown tonight, things change and become permanent if ye don't! The shoes will return, and there's no way ye can get 'em off! And your boyfriend will be the darling of every eligible and lovely young lass who sets eyes on him! So back away, I tell ye, and waste your last luck if ye wish—but if ye do, it comes back on ye!"

"Don't let him get away, Wendy!" Mabel yelled. She stuck her fingers in her ears. "Look, Leprecorn, I don't care about your stupid music—"

"Stupid? _Stupid_?"

"—or your tricks. If you don't cancel out those wishes or whatever they were, I'll—I'll haul you back to my Grunkle Ford and he'll analyze you!"

"Yeah, and her Grunkle Stan will cage you up and use you as a museum exhibit," Wendy said. "You messed with the wrong family!"

"Ye won't be after threatening me!" the leprecorn yelled, sounding like an enraged chipmunk. "Lay a finger on me, and I'll make it shrivel and fall off! I know ancient magic, ye scrubbers! Stand well away, I warn ye fair!"

"Mabes," Wendy said, grasping the tree branch she had used to stop the leprecorn's retreat as though it were a baseball bat, "what do you bet I can take that horn off his head in one swipe?"

"What?" asked Mabel, whose fingers were still in her ears. "Let's just pound him."

Then the music ended—because the leprecorn, growling, lowered his head and pointed his horn toward Mabel. It began to swarm with waves of some white-hot energy. "Take this, ye stupid mortal girl!" the creature screamed.

But the shot went wild and hit a tree instead of Mabel. The tree immediately developed an embarrassing case of acne, but, being a tree, it didn't mind that so much.

The leprecorn, on the other hand, had its hoofs full, because a brown dog had streaked in out of nowhere, seized the bushy rainbow tail in its teeth, and currently was whirling the gibbering creature in a tight circle, as if trying out for the hammer toss in the dog Olympics.

"Tripper!" Mabel shouted. "Get him, boy! Teach him a lesson!"

Tripper let go, the leprecorn arced through the air, and with a splash it landed in the creek. Gasping and gurgling, it fought to gain its footing—but when it did, it stood in neck-deep water, its bug-eyes wide and terrified. "Help me!" it squeaked.

"Oh, don't be a baby," Mabel said, kneeling down and putting her arm around Tripper's neck. "He just threw you in there because you were being so mean—"

"Come on out, unicorn dude, and let's settle this," Wendy said, extending the stick.

"I canna take a step, ye daft girl!"

"Come on, it's not that deep!" Mabel said.

"'Tis not that—'tis running water! And I be a supernatural creature!"

"So?" Mabel asked.

"Hang on," Wendy said. "Some ghosts and vampires and things have, like, an inability to pass moving water."

"How do they go to the bathroom?" Mabel asked.

"No, I mean they can't cross over it."

"How do you even know that?"

"Mabes, me and Dip have watched like a thousand old horror movies."

"Yeah," Mabel said, "but I didn't think you were paying attention."

"Help!" said the leprecorn.

"Hold your horses," Mabel told him.

"But me powers will be leached away!"

"OK, dude," Wendy said. "Here's the deal. I'll pull you out, but you stop playing the music—"

"He's stopped," Mabel said.

"—and don't start it again, get it? Then the three of us are gonna have a friendly little talk, and it'll end with you taking your magic spell off Mabel. Candy, too, if you hit her with it."

"Fine, fine!"

"Do you swear?" Wendy asked.

"What kind of a question is that?"

Mabel walked over to the creek's edge, holding onto Tripper's collar. "I can let him go," she reminded the leprecorn gently.

"All right, all right, I swear, dammit!"

Wendy took off her shoes and socks, rolled up the legs of her slacks, and waded in. She picked up the leprecorn—"Huh, you're not even as heavy as a panda duck"—and set him dripping on the shore. He cringed away from Tripper, who was growling musically.

The rescued creature didn't look like a threat. His multicolored, fluffy tail was now matted and darkened with water and draggled along the ground. His derby had been badly dented, and the stem of the shamrock it boasted was broken, with the four leaves dangling and dripping. "Here's the long and the short, the high and the low of it," he muttered. "I can't just remove the spell, and that's the truth."

"What would happen if Mabel sang your little ditty and then wished that the other stuff never happened?"

Through clenched teeth, the leprecorn said, "'Twould be undone, but so would she. She'd become a stone statue to stand in me field of shamrocks."

"You little jerk!" Mabel said.

"I can't help me nature!"

"Whoa, whoa," Wendy said. "So what if she doesn't make another wish before sundown?"

"Then she's undone as well. She fades and becomes invisible, and nobody on earth, not kith nor kin, will even remember she lived. 'Twill be as if she were never born, but she will be there, not visible to anybody, not able to touch or move anything or to raise the sound of her voice to their hearing, for all eternity."

"Jerk was wrong," Mabel told him. "What you are is—" She said a word that Dipper would never have been able to get past the editor of his YA books.

"Mabes!" Wendy said, sounding genuinely shocked. "Where did you learn that?"

"I once read an Elmore Leonard novel," she said. "So what's our out, then, Mr. Stinky-butt?"

"That's entirely up to you," the leprecorn said. "But to escape those fates, ye must make a third wish—and then it becomes permanent, no matter what shape or form I make it. So it's your turn, girly."

"How about we just pound him?" Wendy suggested. "Maybe that will change his mind."

"We got hair from the unicorns that way," Mabel said. "And that time we didn't even have Tripper along."

"OK, so let's kick a little butt here."

But the wet, miserable-looking leprecorn looked so scared that Mabel, somewhat to her surprise, didn't have the heart for a curb-stomping. Well, creekbank-stomping, but you know what I mean. "There's gotta be another way," she said. "We got hours until sundown. Let's sit on those warm rocks over there, have Tripper guard Mr. Lucky here, and see if we can't figure out a plan. I wish we had Dipper here!"

"Got your phone."

Mabel made a face. "Yeah, I'm real tempted, but not yet, OK? Dipper would think of something, yeah, and he'd save my butt, but then he'd have that on me. Are we damsels in distress?"

"Yea," said the leprecorn.

"Shut up, you!" Mabel snarled.

Wendy made a fist.

"Did I say yea?" the leprecorn asked abjectly. "Sure, and I meant to say nay."

"Just shut up and stay quiet," Wendy advised.

Mabel added, "And if you start that music again, I will let go of the collar of this fierce dog I'm holding here, and you won't like what happens next!"

"I'll be quiet," the leprecorn said.

"Now," Mabel replied, "that's settled. So, Wendy—let's you and me think."

* * *

*It's an Irish Gaelic term that literally means "old lady," but also has a strong connotation of "hag" or "sorceress" or "witch." With a W, not a B, though that's kind of lurking around, too.


	6. Hopefully Ever After

**Pure Luck**

**(July 27, 2017)**

* * *

**6: Hopefully Ever After**

**From the Audio Diary of Mabel Pines: ** _Hello, is this thing working? (click) It is. Let me just begin with a little ditty that I think is appropriate. I shall sing acapella._

_(She sings "Just You Wait" from _My Fair Lady_; then there is a click.)_

_Ha, sounds pretty good! And if you substitute "Mr. Leprecorn" for "'Enry 'Iggins," that's pretty much the way I feel about that nasty little creature. Wendy and me thought for about an hour while we detained him. Then I came up with an idea, Wendy suggested some tweaks, and I sang those two lines from "Danny Boy" and made my last wish. And I think that took care of things! In a few minutes, Teek's gonna call Miss Georgia or whatever her name is, and I'll listen in, and from that I'll know if it worked._

_Oh, Dip says that a lot of the girls who came into the gift shop while Wendy and me were gone flirted with Teek, but he was a gentleman and didn't even take their phone numbers or email addys. Good for Teek!_

_Bye for now, and later, I'll check back in and say how well it worked._

_Mabel Pines! Peace! Out!_

* * *

Teek had propped his phone up so he and Mabel would both be in the field of view, and then he called the number that Miss Mary Beth Colter had left that morning. The phone rang twice, and then the same syrupy voice said, "Mary Beth here. Is this T.K. O'Grady?"

"Uh, yes, returning your call," Teek said. "Uh—can we face-time?"

"Sure thing, honey. Just a sec."

They both made the adjustment, and then Mabel—to her relief—saw that Mary Beth was an OK-looking but not downright beautiful girl, mousy brown hair, eyeglasses, very little makeup, wearing a sleeveless sweater, not too tight, and looking more intellectual than romantic. "Hi there!" she said, making two syllables of "there."

"Uh, hi," Teek said. "Uh, first of all, most people just call me 'Teek.'"

"I love it!" Mary Beth said. "Teek. My friends just call me Mary." She pronounced it May-ree.

"Hi, Mary," Teek said. "This is my fiancée, Mabel Pines."

"Hi," Mabel said, holding up her left hand. "Got a ring!"

"Well, congratulations!" Mary Beth said. "You two look like a darling couple. When's the big day?"

"We're waiting for a couple of years," Teek said. "You know. Gotta be able to support my girl."

"And all the kids we're gonna have!" Mabel added.

"Well, good luck to both of you!" Mary Beth said. "Are you going to be in college too, Mabel?"

"Yeah, but in my home state of California. Teek and I will get together every holiday, every vacation, and every summer, though."

"That's wonderful," Mary Beth said. She picked up a sheet of paper. "All right, I won't waste your time. Let's just touch bases on this. First, Teek, do you know about the mentor program?"

"Um, I think so," he said. "G-CAF appoints an upperclassman to sort of monitor freshmen—"

Mary Beth laughed. "Mentor, not monitor! The way it works, we'll both be in the big freshman meeting on September fifth. That will be in Patrick Auditorium, Purdy Hall. There'll be a little old orientation, and then we'll all go to separate rooms for the mentor talk. I have you and two other freshmen, so if nobody objects, we'll all meet together."

"Nobody objects," Mabel said.

"I'll go over the important parts of the Freshman Handbook and the semester schedule with y'all, and I'll answer any questions and give y'all my email and cell phone number. Then just before mid-term, 'long in early October, I'll check in with you to see how you're doing. In the meantime, any questions you have, anything you need to know about scheduling, advising, so on, you just give me a call."

"Got it," Teek said.

"That's about it. Just before Study Days for finals, we four will have one last meeting to take stock of how you've done and what else you need to know for your second semester. Then 'long in the spring, no meetings for us. Just call or email if you need any help or advice. I'm looking forward to meeting you, Teek!"

"Me, too, Teek said. "Well—thank you!"

"You take care of my fiancée!" Mabel chirped.

And they said their goodbyes.

"Whoosh!" Teek said. "Was that OK?"

"Just about perfect!" Mabel said. The snack bar had closed shop and they had been sitting at a table there. Mabel spied a pretty teen girl, maybe fifteen or a mature fourteen. It was hard to tell because she was turned away, but from the back her figure looked pretty darned curvy. She seemed to be browsing around the shelves, not looking very interested. Her parents were more animated as they talked about buying various merch for Halloween decorations later that year.

"Hey," Mabel said, nudging Teek. "Go ask that girl if she needs any help."

"She looks kinda bored," Teek said.

"Go on. I just wanna watch," Mabel said.

So Teek went over to the girl, popped the question—"Could I help you with anything?"

And the girl, who when she turned revealed her makeup to be of the Goth variety, said, "Ew, no. Um, you smell like onions."

"Well—I'll let you shop, then," Teek said. He came back to Mabel, who kissed him.

She said, "Your fatal attraction for the opposite sex is officially over. You belong to me now!"

"I'll settle for that," Teek told her.

"Then let's go somewhere private and I'll stake my claim."

They went out the back way, holding hands.

* * *

"What was that all about?" Dipper asked Wendy.

"I think Mabes was just making sure that the leprecorn's good-luck shot to Teek has worn off," Wendy said. "Come on, folks, Mr. Pines here will check you out."

"Thank God," the Goth girl moaned as she followed her parents—their arms laded with plastic skulls, giant spiders, and other shlock—to the register. The girl rolled her eyes as Dipper totaled up. "I am so _bored_!"

Dipper rang them up and Wendy asked, "You didn't think that guy with messy black hair was cute?"

"I haven't seen a cute boy in like forever," the girl murmured.

"Hope you find one soon," Wendy said.

The girl rolled her eyes.

After she and her parents had left—there was one remaining batch of tourists due back on the Mystery Tram any minute, but aside from them, the Shack had probably seen its last customers of the day—Dipper said, "Come on and tell me what happened with the Leprecorn. Grunkle Ford's sure to ask me."

Wendy hopped up to sit on the counter and chuckled. "OK, Dip. It went down like this.

* * *

Mabel sang the first two lines of "Danny Boy." Then she said, "Now, here's my last wish for luck."

"Speak it, girl, and 'tis yours," the leprecorn said with an evil grin.

"No, 'tis yours," Mabel said, returning the grin but even eviler. Wait, is "eviler" a word? Guess it is, it doesn't get flagged. Where was I?

Oh, right. Mabel said, "My wish is that you enjoy all the luck you gave to me and Teek—but for yourself! Hop to it!"

"Wait, wait, that's against the rules!" the leprecorn said, so shocked that most of his Irish accent fell off.

"Where are they written down?" demanded Mabel.

"Wheest! Written down? They're not written down anywhere! You just know them!"

"No, we don't," Wendy said. "So where are they written down? If they're not written down, they're not worth the paper they're not written on."

"But—but—but—"

"I didn't wish for you to imitate a motorboat," Mabel said icily. "You heard me."

"But—the rules, girl, the rules!"

Mabel leaned close. Tripper growled. The leprecorn turned pale. Even his nose became a blush-pink. "Listen close," Mabel said. "You're a kind of fairy, right?"

"Well, now, 'tis a good question. Leprechauns are among the Sidhe*, to be sure, but unicorns, now, they be unique! They have unique horns, so they do—"

"So do I call Celestabethabelle or the Queen of the Fae?" Mabel asked. "Or maybe both of them together to sort this out."

If the leprecorn had been a crayon, it would have been one lying on an asphalt parking lot in the hot sun at high noon in Winslow, Arizona. He more or less melted. "Sure, and you're bluffing," he said hoarsely. "Neither of those have any truck with puny mortals!"

"Watch this." Mabel put a thumb and finger in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Within mere seconds, a dragonfly came droning up, except if you looked closely, it wasn't a dragonfly, but a tiny humanoid figure, female, wearing nothing but a green shimmer.

"You rang?" the little creature said in a voice so high-pitched that Tripper, who had been regarding the newcomer as a possible snack, drew back in surprise.

"I got a double message," Mabel said. "You up for it?"

"Shoot," said the fairy—for, my darlings, you have already guessed that's what the little being was, bless your little innocent hearts. Well, you were right, but guess again. Fairies (they prefer "the Fae") are a right nasty lot of buggers, and no mistake. They can call on as much power as a Cat 5 hurricane, and they have no more conscience than a viper. You don't want to mess with fairies, unless, like Mabel, you have some experience. Best be warned.

"I want to summon the Queen of the Fae and Celestabethabelle of the Unicorns for a judgment of a leprecorn," Mabel said. "Hold for the rest of the message."

"Leprecorn? Yuck. Can we eat it later?"

"It says it's delicious. Yellow moons, green clovers—"

"Yum!"

"All right, all right, the rules say I have to abide by the wish, you win!" the leprecorn said.

"OK, fairy," Mabel said. "What oath can he swear that even he can't break?"

"No snacksies?" asked the fairy in a tiny, disappointed voice.

"Maybe tomorrow, depending on how this turns out. Hang on a while. But how can I bind him?"

And that is why, miserably, the leprecorn recited, "By the Powers of sky and sea, by fire and by earth, I'm bound to obey the rules of me, else my life is no longer of worth."

Mabel nodded. "OK, fairy—uh, what's your name?"

"Feyuch," the fairy said.

"OK, Feyuch—wait, that sounds off-color. Might consider changing that."

"I don't like it either," the fairy said.

"Mm. How about Peaseblossom?"

"Hardly any better."

"How about Emerald?" suggested Wendy.

"Em-er-ald," the fairy said. "Emerald. Yes! That's a nice name. Thank you!"

"Don't mention it," Wendy said.

"All right, Emerald," Mabel cut in. "Tomorrow, you will check and make sure that the leprecorn here has kept his word. If anything is out of line—anything at all—bring the Queen of the Fae and the Great Mare of the Unicorns here and deal with him as he deserves, and afterward if you want, you can snack on the remains."

"Whee!" the fairy said. "Uh—the fee?"

Mabel took off her left earring, which was in the shape of a five-pointed star. "This is fourteen-carat gold plated," she said. "Will that do?"

Emerald buzzed about in an excited pattern. "Do? We'll owe you a dozen services more!"

Mabel put the guard on the pin. "Here you go, then. It's a deal. May the moon shine fair on your nights at the revels!"

"Ooh, you do know about us!" Emerald squealed, trying hard to maintain altitude with the added weight (.010 Troy ounce) of the earring. "Farewell, Mabel Pines! And your orders shall be carried out!"

The green streak whizzed off. Mabel crossed her arms and tapped a foot as she gazed at the leprecorn. "I don't see any dancing!"

"Ah lost and lorn am I!" lamented the leprecorn, but the green shoes—four of them—appeared on his hoofs, and he began to jig to "Stack o' Wheat, Stack o' Barley," one of the liveliest of jigs.

And a female spirit—a Succubus, to be exact—flitted out of the earth and said, "Ooh, baby, where have you been all my life?"

"Not yet born, for the first t'ousand year or so!" the leprecorn said. "I'm not the mate for ye, lassie!"

"He's mine!" hissed a Banshee, coming in suddenly from the Undiscovered Country.

"OK, leprecorn," Mabel said. "Cut the spells on me and Teek short. Then today at sundown this last one ends, understand? Tough it out until then, and then all your magic spells stop at once, get me?"

"Aye, aye, that I do," the leprecorn moaned. The Succubus was trying to ride him—probably. It's hard to tell with them. "Get away wi' ye!"

In the distance some thuds sounded. The Banshee said, "Hide yourself, cutie! That's a Gorgon coming to have a peek at you—and the birds are falling petrified!"

"Let's scram," Wendy said to Mabel.

They didn't even bother pole-vaulting, but took off shoes and socks and waded across, not even glancing back as the leprecorn said, "I'm nae going to look at ye, me eyes are glued shut!"

A hissing female voice said, "Oh, pleasseee, baby!"

When they got back to the path, Wendy asked, "Do you think the little shmuck has learned his lesson?"

Mabel gasped. "Uh—do you know that that word means?"

"Shmuck? Think so," Wendy said. "Kinda like jerk, right?"

"Ummm . . . not exactly." Mabel, who'd learned the word from Stan, told Wendy what it really meant.

"Eh, suits him," she said. The two of them dried their feet, put on shoes and socks, and headed back to the Shack.

* * *

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines: ** _Thursday night: Wendy told me about how she and Mabel handled the problem of the leprecorn. I guess it worked. Mabel and Teek went into town for a meal, then went mall-walking, and she was happy when they got back because not one girl hit on Teek the whole time. And she says that "Danny Boy" has stopped running through her head, so I guess that's good, too._

_Wendy asked me what a naughty Yiddish word means, and I more or less told her, while trying to be delicate. "Huh," she said. "I guess it's kinda like 'dork,' but harsher. I mean, 'dork' used to mean a guy's—"_

"_I know," I said. "Yeah, in a way the same, but you're right, the s-word is a lot more, um, vulgar. Mom would have an aneurysm if one of us said it!"_

_Wendy pointed her finger at her temple. "Zip!" she said, popping the P. "It is unheard. I won't use it again, Dipper."_

_We were sitting up on the roof at the time, at the magic hour—that time when the sun has just set, the sky is all purple in the east and salmon-pink in the west, the first star or two is shining down, and all the world seems to catch its breath just for a moment._

_Wendy asked, "Can you hear anything?"_

_I heard the twitter of swallows or bats, and a truck shifting gears somewhere off toward town. I told her that._

"_No music?" she asked._

"_No."_

"_Guess it worked, then. The leprecorn's free of his own curse. Or luck, whatever. Maybe he'll leave people alone."_

"_What . . . was I supposed to hear?" I asked._

"_An Irish jig tune. Fiddles and all."_

_I shook my head. "No. Once or twice this afternoon I heard it, sort of thin and far-off, but not now."_

"_Dude, you and Mabes can hear it. I can't. Is something wrong with me?"_

"_Music of the leprecorn?" I guessed._

"_Yeah, and the magic shoes."_

"_Didn't you hear that when Mabel had them on? It was loud as anything!"_

"_Nope. Sort of pretended I did, 'cause everybody else could, but really—no music. And I couldn't hear 'Danny Boy' when we met the leprecorn. What gives?"_

"_I don't know," I said. "Maybe you've got Irish blood in you. Maybe long ago a beautiful Irish fairy fell in love with a sturdy Corduroy man."_

"_Meh, I don't feel magical," she said._

"_But you're my Magic Girl," I told her._

_We kissed and cuddles for a while and then Wendy sighed. "Man," she said. "Dip, now—"_

"_What?"_

_She nuzzled my neck. "I think I'm beginning to hear some beautiful music!"_

* * *

_*Don't hurt yourself trying to pronounce "Sidhe." Say "shee," and that's close enough for government work._

* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay. On the morning of my birthday, my deskop died a grisly death. Right now I'm using a borrowed laptop and typing on it is hard after my ergonomic keyboard. However, I had external hard drive backups of my files. Tomorrow the replacement desktop is supposed to arrive. Maybe I can get back on track.
> 
> Excelsior! Or if not that, Bubble Wrap!


End file.
